


A Semi-Charmed Life

by karrenia_rune



Category: Marvel 1602, X-Factor (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Lila Cheney - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-29 16:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1007692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karrenia_rune/pseuds/karrenia_rune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: a Sequel to my previous story “Blessings and Curses), how the entire X-Factor crew with the addition of Shatterstar, set out for the New World in the hopes of settling down in the Virginia Commonwealth under their own terms, however unexpected dangers lie in wait for them and they must cope with being strangers in a strange land.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Semi-Charmed Life

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 Marvel Big Bang. This is the follow-up sequel to my previous story "Blessings and Curses" that was written for the 2013 Comics Big Bang. With much thanks to my beta reader devioletta. And also to Anna for the fantastic artwork and accompanying fanmix.

Disclaimer: X-Factor Investigations and the concepts/ideas of the Marvel 1602 verse belong to their respective creators/editors and Marvel Comics. They are not mine. 

Note: This is the sequel to my previous story “Blessings and Curses” which was written for the 2013 Comics Big Bang. Also, the names of some of the characters have been ‘adjusted’ slightly to fit the time period, so Rictor is Julian and Guido is Gideon, and Longshot is Lionel. Everyone else pretty much remains the same. Another character from the 616 verse makes her Marvel 1602 debut, also.

The mix created by Anna can be found here on 8tracks.com here: ["soundtrack">](http://8tracks.com/rojhaz/semicharmed)

Prologue

“You know I set great store by my things,” Monet remarked casually, as if it were no big deal, however, her stance on the floor of their headquarters and the placement of her hands on her hips belied her lazy, nonchalant tone. 

Gideon leaned forward from where he lounged in an over-stuffed leather arm-chair, half-dozing, and grinned. “If we allowed you to bring only half of your stuff aboard, Monet, but we would have to cut down on at least a third of everyone else’s stuff.” He sighed and rolled his eyes and then added:

“I think we can convince the ship’ cargo master to find room for it,” she retorted, but there was no real heat in it.

Gideon stepped away for a moment, and stood in front of the heap of parcels and trunks, warily eye-balling each of them in turn as he complete each successive rotation. He half suspected that there might be some kind of trap lurking inside of them, say something along the lines of innocuous barrels that had spurred forward the Gunpowder plot of several months ago. 

The plot had been the work of a disgruntled individual by the name of Guy Hawkes who had attracted other like-minded folks into setting off the explosion. 

It might well have succeeded, too, but something had gone wrong, and the conspirators had been discovered and punished to the full extent of the law. In the land where King James ruled, that usually ended with the poor unfortunate wretch dangling from a noose. 

Gideon shuddered to think what ‘their fate might have been had James and his Witchbreed hunters had ever managed to catch up with them. Turning back to face Monet once more, all he said aloud was. “Yeah, I think we can manage, but do you really require that many cases of makeup?”

“Each ensemble is carefully calculated to the last degree and to complement my skin tone, so, yes, I really do need that many makeup cases.”

Monet had lived and worked beside the various members of Madrox’s former royal investigators in charge of specialized services for over three years now, and for the most part found it an agreeable arrangement. 

When she was being especially honest with herself, Monet was well aware that she was what those among her social circles referred to as ‘high maintenance. She could also be stubborn, and although she was born and bred to high society, it was the causal every day interaction that still seemed, well, problematic. 

Until recently, that disconnect had seemed to be getting better. Perhaps, better put, not as bad it as used to be. Or maybe she was simply allowing those carefully constructed walls, both mental and physical to slip ever so slightly, allowing other people in. 

Even as she thought this over, she suddenly recalled something that her father, an ambassador had once told her, something that she had never really thought about for quite some time, the thing about putting up walls is to see is whether or not anyone would try and break them down and find out what was behind them.

Monet smiled, ever so slightly, and thought to herself, ‘We will see, will we not.’

At that moment, Theresa came down carrying a trunk and whistling, her red hair tousled and wind-blown. “I could hear ye all the way on the third floor. Are ye ready to leave yet?”

“Yes, we were just discussing, ah, portage and distribution of labor, “Monet calmly replied.

Following along at her heels were Julian and the red-headed mercenary, Shatterstar.

“I thought the boss said we had to travel lightly, so as not to overly attract attention,” Julian remarked.

“Ah, that he did,” Theresa seconded.

“So, the sooner we get moving, the better,” replied Gideon.

**  
On the way to the shipyards and travelling across the Atlantic to the New World

Julian Richter found Theresa Cassidy leaning against the port railing, alone, her gazed fixed on the roiling and swelling water of the Atlantic Ocean, her green-eyed gaze with the fixed expression of a man whose attention was not so entirely focused on the task at hand, but rather preoccupied with other matters.

Julian cleared his throat, and tapped her on the shoulder. “Got a minute?”

“Oh, Julian, Ah I didna see ye there, of course,” she replied, the still heavily accented Irish lilt still very much apparent despite all the time she had spent travelling both in the company of her father and more recently in finishing school in London.

He cleared his throat loudly and then brushed away the long brown bangs that seemed just to be always just about on the verge of getting into his eyes, before saying. “Look, I wouldn’t bother you about this but it’s been preying on my mind ever since we left.”

“Ye know that you can tell me anything, Julian, ye’ve know that you mean more to me and me Da than just another retainer.”

Julian blushed and then frowned. For her own part, Theresa Cassidy could hazard a pretty good guess about what was bothering him. It had been five or so odd years give or take, since she and her father had found the young man locked up in the pillory at another of the English colonies, waiting his eventual burning at the stake on the charges of being one of the witch breed. 

It had not taken much persuading on her part to convince her father to come to the young man’s rescue. She hated to see anything suffer, be it animal or human. 

Over the intervening years since bringing him back to their home away from home in London, they had been rewarded a dozen times over. She meant what she had said, he may have served their family in the capacity of a black smith, but she thought of him more in terms of a friend.

“It’s just that,” he paused and chewed on his lip while shuffling his feet on the deck floorboards, before looking up meeting her green-eyed gaze with his brown eyes. “I’m just worried that those witch-breed hunters might still be out there, and they might have long memories, if you know want I mean?”

“Ah, Lord have Mercy on us all,” Theresa replied, “Tis a wicked world that we live in. I often wish that I could tell ye that there was nothing to fear on that score. I’ve sent a letter to me Da shortly before we left, but that was almost three weeks ago, and I doubt that I’ll receive a reply before we make landfall.”

“Did you make arrangements for where we’re going to hang our hats?”

“Aye, that he did. He told me that there was a rooming house in a Roanoke village that will put us up until we can find something more permanent. However, until then we’ll have to play it by ear,” she replied.

“But back to the letter,” Julian prompted.

“Ah yes, the letter,” she said with a smile. “It was to address those very same concerns that you’ve mentioned, and I’ve mentioned it to Madrox as well. It’s all very well to take off half-cocked and leave everything we’ve ever known behind us, but we both know it will nae never do to so while those who might wish those like us harm or worse are still out there.”

“So you are having your father check with his sources and then get back to you, is that it?”

“You have it right,” she replied.

“Good,” Julian replied with a wry grin. “And here I was worried.”

“Are we really so set in our ways?” she asked, laughing, the fiery red tresses of her long hair, blown in every direction by the wind and the salt-spray of the ocean. “I over-prepare, Monet over-packs, and Madrox over-thinks, Layla…”he trailed off.

“Do not get me started on Layla,” he cut in.

“Why?” she inquired, more out of curiosity as to what his answer might have been. 

She knew that he had always had a difficult time opening up to people, and was often as prickly as an undenned badger just woken up from a long winter’s hibernation, but he could be warm and generous once you got to know him. 

She hardly knew anything about Layla Miller or her husband, but had found them good people to know so far.

“Oh, Madre de Dios,” Julian grumbled. “I just don’t know what it is about her, but sometimes, she just gets really, well, creepy, the way she always knows things, but never comes right out and says it. Madrox seems to like it. I guess, I mean he married her.”

“He did at that,” Theresa agreed with a grin. “But that’s neither here nor there. And you, you gripe.”

Julian’s expression changed remarkably at that succinct expression of his habitual attitude; seemingly she was the only one to notice and most of the time Theresa never called him out. “Okay, okay, maybe you’re right. We really are set in our ways; aren’t we a little too young for that?” he said with a much more cheerful grin plastered on his face.

By way of reply Theresa quickly swept him into to her arms and hugged him tightly. He did not pull away and instead hugged her back. When she released him, all he said was thanks. The tightly wound-up, heavy-set slope of his shoulders and the apprehensive look in his eyes, now gone and replaced by a lighter air. “Thanks, Theresa.”

“You’re welcome.” Theresa did not know what exactly had prompted him to hug him like that. Her dear departed mother would have scolded her for becoming overly familiar with the hired help, but despite her own upbringing and inclinations; over time those notions had become rather blurred, and not as concrete as they had once been.

Titling her head to one side and glancing away from him, to look out over the prow of the ship at the play of sunlight on the blue green waves, she asked breezily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world and did not really expect an answer to her question: “By the way, do you have any idea why your red-headed mercenary friend decided to come along?”  
Julian, at first, did not reply as he took deep gasps of the salty-tinged brisk air, before he decided what reply to make to ‘that’ particular question. He had figured it was coming for some time, and how best to handle it when it did. 

Even in his own mind, he felt, if not, ambivalent, but it came close. He and the mercenary had felt an instant connection with one another, the kind that seemed to defy rational explanation, but nonetheless felt very real; at least that was how he felt about it.

The red-head was damn vague and rather evasive when it came to speaking about his past, or his feelings. 

He was not being guarded, more like he was one of those damns built by the Dutch in the Netherlands; built with the intention of holding back tons of water, but if those seals should ever break, it would all come flooding out in a sudden inundation. 

 

Much like those dams, Shatterstar’s emotional experience could be put in terms of experiencing them on a visceral level; it was if he were somehow blocked off from expressing them.

For his own part, Julian had never met anyone else like Shatterstar, and it was difficult to say, why, but that magnetic connection was not just one way, why else would he want to come with their rag-tag group? Of course, it could just be that he was following a coincidence of paths. 

By coming with them Shatterstar could see something of the New World, but perhaps there could be something more to it than that?

“He wanted to, and I get the feeling that once he gets an idea stuck in his head it’s very, very difficult to even think about dislodging it,” Julian replied.

Theresa nodded, she had only met the young mercenary that one time when they had been fighting off the guards at the Latervian Embassy in London. She had seen for herself his rather disturbing but ever so fascinating economy of motion and skill with those long doubled-bladed swords that he wielded. It was amazing, simply amazing. 

However skilled Shatterstar might be with a blade, and he was indeed extremely skilled. As a mercenary he could have had his pick of lucrative offers, from any number of sources, so why come along with a group of former Witchbreed agents that had fallen out of favor with the English royalty? 

The other matter, and this one was a much more personal one, and while it was not her place to say so, over the course of their travels across the ocean, she had seen the growing closeness and affection between the red head and Julian Richter. Again, she knew that it was hardly her business to intervene, or even if she wanted to, or even if she should.

Julian heaved a sigh, and then replied, “Truth to tell, and don’t mention this to the others, because I don’t think that they would understand, but I’m glad that he did.”

“I’m glad, too."

“You are?”

“Yes, the two of you are good for each other, weird, yes, and in ways I cannae explain, so don’t ask me too, but good nonetheless.”

“Now, you’re just talking nonsense,” Julian complained.

“If you like, come on, let’s go below decks, it looks like a storm is brewing off to the northeast and a nasty one at that, one in which I donnae face being out in when it hits our ship.”  
Julian glanced up at the lowering sky, shading his eyes from the glare of the sun as he did so, studying the play of light and shadow. He looked up at the point she had indicated, and saw that a thunderhead or two was indeed headed in their direction. 

It looked it ominous enough to swallow up what little remaining sunlight was left as it came. At the farthest edges it appeared as if were on the verge of eating up and chewing up the other smaller clouds.

“You’re right about that storm, It looks truly nasty,” Julian muttered, even as he absently ran a hand through his tangled dark brown hair, “before turning his gaze back to Theresa, remarking, “I sure wouldn’t want to be caught out in it when it hits the ship. Let’s go below.”

She put a hand on his shoulder and smiled, “Agreed,” Theresa replied.  
****

 

Sailing into the harbor mouth at just before dawn on the 20th of June of the small colony was something of a mixed blessing, after all, as far as James Madrox was concerned having lived his early life in and around the grander harbors of her Majesty’s sprawling empire he had hoped for something well, bigger. 

If not built on as a grand a scale as other ports of call that he had seen, he had half-expected more than this ramshackle collection of wooden palings and a handful of ships. They could see assorted fishing boats working to either catch fish or to tow in the larger vessels into to safe harbor further inland. 

Their ship was hailed by the dock yard officials and their ship’s captain argued briefly, most of which he could not quite catch given the distance, the wind shirring through the taut sails and the ocean spray in his face. But it had something to do with paying a toll. 

Madrox wondered if this was standard practice for all ships arriving from London, or if it was possible that some rumor of the nature of its passengers had preceded their arrival in the New World. ‘Either way, he thought ruefully, ‘I’m certain that we’re about to find out one way or another.’ 

“What’s eating you?” asked Layla cheerfully, and then gently poked her husband in the ribs, eliciting a muffled grunt. “Don’t tell me being on a boat troubles you.”

“It’s not that,” replied Madrox, unable to resist tousling her hair in return for the earlier poking. “It’s that I’ve got a sinking feeling that it may not be entirely safe in coming here.”

“If you’re looking to me for reassurances that everything will come up roses and wine, don’t hold your breath,” replied Layla, the light-hearted tone from only moments earlier not quite gone from her voice, but the expression on her face much more serious.

“So what is it that you’re not telling me?” he griped in return.

“There really is nothing much more to tell you,” Layla remarked, “I can’t predict the future, I just get inklings, snatches of what might happen, could happen, branches breaking off from any of a dozen paths.” 

She paused to reach up and brush away a strand of her blonde hair as it dipped down to nearly cover her eyes. Sometimes she felt that as long as it was that she could hide behind that hair, and not have to answer all her husband’s well-meaning questions, as much as she may or may not wish to.

“Look, it’s all very well to go into any given situation with as much information as one has at one’s disposal at the time, but sometimes you just don’t have that kind of luxury,” she explained. 

“Forewarned is for armed, or some such nonsense as that,” Jamie growled. 

“Yes, yes, I know, but this is one of those times, you’re just going have to make do! All right?”

He locked gazes with her, placing his hands on her shoulders, looking into her blue eyes; they were presently hidden behind her long blonde hair. 

Jamie took several deep calming breathes in order to keep from blurting out something rather hurtful or juvenile, or momentarily satisfying; instead he quietly whispered. “I know I know I just wanted to, I don’t know, wanted to know how this venture into the unknown will work out, that we’ll be okay… ”All of us.”

“Don’t worry so much about the others. They’re adults, and they can take care of themselves. I understand, as the leader you feel responsible for them and that’s one of the reasons that I love you, too, but you really need to stop worrying so much. Okay?”

“Okay, Okay,” really, I mean it, stop looking at me that way,” Jamie said, much more briskly and calmly than he had been feeling up until now.

“Promise me?” she asked, firmly.

“I promise,” Jamie replied with a wry grin.

***

 

Encounter 

Upon making landfall he and his team were approached by an a man wearing worn but quite serviceable tunic of a saffron yellow color with oddly contrasting scarlet hose and a green feather tilted a jaunty angle out of the brim. He also had a pretty young girl holding onto his arm. The girl wore a long black dress studded all over with silver and red rosettes, and a broad-brimmed hat. In her free hand, she carried a large black and red fan. She was very pretty and wore her blonde hair cut much shorter than the fashion of the day considered proper, but on her it looked good. 

Jamie realized that he was staring, and when she caught his gaze, merely offered a raised blonde eyebrow and offered him a lazy smile.

“Allow me to introduce myself, I am William Abernathy, and this is the Sister Sojourn Ghost, whom you may or may not as a famous singer in these parts, but more of that later.”

Madrox, feeling that it was his responsibility as leader to observe the formalities, such as they were, stepped to the forefront of the group just recently disembarked from the ship and approached the man who stood on the dock. 

“I am James Madrox, and these are my associates.”

“Welcome to Roanoke Colony, Mr. Madrox. We’ve been expecting you,” Abernathy greeted affably for the entire world in the manner of an avuncular uncle, come to greet long lost relatives. 

“Really?” he asked, a bit apprehensive. The ocean voyage had been rather uneventful, unless one counted the pounding, drubbing, and rough handling a sudden squall of a storm had given the ship and its passengers during that last stretch; it certainly had been a hell of storm, and one that Jamie Madrox wouldn’t soon forget. He just was grateful that none of his team had been caught out in it, or, as far as he knew, suffered from sea-sickness. 

While Theresa Cassidy had informed that she and her father had several business associates and contacts of other natures in the New World he just wasn’t certain if this Abernathy person happened to be one of them. Jamie made a mental note to himself to check with Theresa later, when they settled down in the rooming establishment that her father had arranged for them to stay at until they could find something more permanent.

“Please, with your leave, allow my men to transport your luggage to the rooming house we’ve set aside for your use while you are here.”

“We can manage just fine on our own, thank you kindly,” Layla spoke up at the moment. “I mean, we wouldn’t want to put you to any unnecessary trouble.”

“Of course, not, but I really do insist,” remarked Abernathy.”

“Well, I guess, I mean, that would be fine,” Jamie muttered.

Abernathy released the young singer in order to clap his hands together and beamed at all of them, before announcing in a loud stentorian voice, “then it is settled, if you would please follow me, we’ll be going then!”

“He’s an odd duck and no mistake,” Theresa remarked, tapping Jamie on the shoulder.

“Do you know him?” Jamie whispered back to her. 

“Not personally, but I don’t know all of my father’s contacts personally or by name, or even to put a face to go with a name, he could be legitimate, but we’d be best be wary, all the same.”

“You don’t trust him either?”

“I didnae say that, I just said, be careful,” she replied.

“Good idea,” he sighed.  
****

 

“Envy this country, that has such people in it,” exclaimed the woman that William Abernathy had introduced to him as the up and coming chanteuse known by her stage name as Sister Sojourn Ghost.

Gideon couldn’t help but be captivated by smile and the mischievous but intriguing glint in her almond-shaped brown eyes. She wore her hair piled up in a tight but slightly disheveled-looking bun on the top of her head. 

She was short but carried herself in such a way as if she was much taller than she appeared. She seemed to approach life and the world on her own terms; it was a quality that intrigued Gideon.

“Will you tell me your real name?” he asked.

“Ah, ah,” she whispered. “That is not at all the way it works,”

“So tell me how it works.”

“Eventually,” she replied, stepping across the grass of the horse paddock, her booted feet hardly making the grass stems bend beneath her, and bracing herself to get her balance, jumped up and flung her hands around his neck, with a deep breath, kissed him on the lips, and then leapt back.

“Not that I’m complaining or anything, but why did you do that?”

“I was in the moment,” she replied. “My manager tells me that I’m too impulsive, too stubborn, and just too damn incorrigible to ever make it as a solo female act in this day and age, but he knows that I stand a better chance of doing that in the colonies than I ever would back in the old country.”

“That’s what you want?”

“Of course, that’s what I want, you silly goose!” she exclaimed. “It’s what I’ve always ever since I can remember.”

“How long ago can that be?” Gideon stammered, a bit tongue-tied, “you’re uh, uh, not that old,” he blurted out with his face reddening almost the same shade as the setting sun at his back. 

Gideon suddenly realized that he was sweating; he could feel it run down his back and make his clothes stick to his torso like a second skin. He had never been very good around the fairer sex as much as he may have boasted to the contrary in the pubs in London. Even back home in Italy; it was much the same story. 

Despite his difficulty to say exactly what he meant, or the anxiety of worrying overly much if what he intended came out all twisted. He meant well, and truly wanted to make a much more meaningful connection with someone special. 

For a while Monet St. Croix had seemed to be that one, but with her, well, one could never be certain. But from the moment he had met the woman known as the Sister Sojourn Ghost, it was like a kind of force, magnetic or otherwise had drawn them together.

And he had the strongest sense that she felt much the same way.

“Gideon,” she murmured, “I told that I can be extremely impulsive, so much so that William worries about me something fierce, but I do not care about that just now. I’ve decided that you’re a decent guy and I’m willing to give you a chance. Come by the rooming house later on tonight, and we’ll talk more then.”

“I’ll be there,” he replied.

She turned and waved goodbye as she crossed the grassy paddock; the horses, busy with their own needs, were completely oblivious of the doings of their two-legged intruders.  
***

 

The young ingénue found her patron in his counting room at the court house, penning some kind of notation into his leather-bound ledger book. At left sat a large burlap sack with that could be sealed with a length of twine. 

When her patron bent down to reach for the sack, Lila Cheney, who in other circles was also known as the Sister Sojourn Ghost, distinctly heard the melodious silvery clink of silver coins, and a lot of them. 

This was nothing out of the ordinary, she full well knew that William Abernathy was a wealthy man, and he had graciously allowed her to live with him. Perhaps, if it had not been for him, who took noticed of her and recognized her talent as both a singer and entertainer, her career would never have taken off as quickly as it had. 

All the same, she had been feeling an undeniable sense of disquiet. Something undefined being off, but had been unable to determine exactly what that ‘something was.”

When he shifted in his seat, to ease the stiffness in his neck and back muscles borne from long hours spent in one position, there was an expression on his face that she could never recall having seen there before; sheepiness as if he were caught doing something wicked as was both angry and startled to have been caught at it, and he feared retribution for it. 

For a moment the musty air of the counting room was filled with an awkward silence that neither of them seemed inclined to break. William set the quill pen back into his marble holder, trying to hold her gaze, but seemingly unable to do so for very much longer, before he finally said: 

“My dear, Lila, dear, to what do I owe this pleasure?” 

“Mr. Abernathy, have I arrived at a rather bad time? I came to let you know that I’ve met a promising young man and have extended an invite to have him over tonight to for a late supper.“

“Ah, very good, but perhaps you can Mrs. Bentley, fix you something when your young beau arrives, as I have already eaten.”

“I shall do so, “she replied, wandering over to get a better look at the letter that he written and sealed in red wax and then affixed to an envelope. 

There was the substance that gave the proof to her half-formulated suspicions. 

In Mr. Abernathy’s precise handwriting were instructions to a certain Mr. Hodge who had been come from the Massachusetts colony; this individual was someone who had garnered a rather notorious and dangerous reputation as a trouble-maker.

It was a known fact that Mr. Hodge also had a definite grudge against the Witch Breed, so much so, that it was said he had been driving anyone even so much as suspected as having paranormal or unexplained abilities out of Massachusetts with a price on their head. 

She had no idea if that were true or not, but she knew better than to cross someone like that.

“Mr. Abernathy,” she began, sternly, hoping against hope that the evidence of her own observations as well as the disquieting sensations that she’d been feeling for the past three months were wrong. 

She grabbed the letter and clutched it to her chest. “Why?”

“I had no choice, my dear, they gave me no choice. Please, believe me,” William murmured.

“There always choices,” she retorted angrily.

“When they come for the newcomers, I will do what I have always done to keep you safe,” he added.

“I don’t know if I believe that anymore, Mr. Abernathy,” she added in an hushed undertone.

Just at that precise moment Mrs. Bentley, the housekeeper, shouldered opened the door to the counting room, and announced, “Mr. Carosella, to see Miss Cheney.”

“Well, why don’t you go meet him in the parlor, I won’t keep you,” he said, calmly, his face and his body language once more under control. The demeanor of the world-wise, avuncular uncle which he presented to the outside world back in place.

“We’re not done discussing this,” she declared, over her shoulder as she went out through the door of the counting room, swished past Mrs. Bentley in a swirl of skirts and lace, and out to the parlor.

**  
Gideon felt more than a bit nervous, not knowing where to sit, worried that his overly-large frame would shatter the tiny high-backed chairs into a million pieces, so he chose to remain standing, his hat in his hands. 

He mustered a confident smile for the lovely young ingénue, wondering if it might have been wiser to have purchased a ticket for one of the young woman’s performances before arriving for his pre-arranged meeting with the Sister Sojourn Ghost.

“Gideon!” she exclaimed eagerly, rushing to him and enfolding him in her arms as much as she could around his large muscular frame. He returned the gesture a moment later, when she released him to glance at him appraisingly, saying as she did so, “You clean up rather well.” 

“Well, I do have my moments,” he replied.

“I had hope that your first dinner would begin on a more auspicious note,” she began, trailing off anxiously.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Are you all right?”

“I am fine. And it occurs to me, that I did promise you that I would tell you my real name.”

He nodded encouragingly, and said,” That you did.”

“It’s Lila Cheney, and I’m glad that you came, and not just because I like you and I wanted you to come.”

“Are you certain you are fine?”

“I am, but I am afraid. It has become quite clear to me that your friends are in danger, if it is not too late already. You must help me free them!”

“Free them! What’s happened?” Gideon exclaimed.

“They’ve been abducted, and imprisoned, under sentence of death; they are due to be hanged at sunrise tomorrow morning.”

“Under whose authority?” Gideon demanded angrily.

“My guardian's seal is on it,” she whispered unhappily. He claims he was given no choice, but the man under whom all of this is really happening is a man by the name of Garrett Hodge.”

“I’ve never heard of him, “Gideon sighed, “but then that does not necessarily mean anything, if you say he’s dangerous and behind this , this gods cursed outrage, then I’m inclined to believe you!”

She nodded somberly.

“We need a plan!” he exclaimed. 

“Come there are riding cloaks and boots in the shed by the carriage house, I don’t know if we can find one large enough to fit you, but we’ll make do, then we can see what can be done when we get there.”

He followed her out of the manor house and back around to the side of the large structure, surprised and delighted by the kindness, forthrightness and decisiveness of the lovely young woman.

Gideon did not know if anything they had planned would work, but doing nothing was not an option.

**

Meanwhile, the night was well advanced and the stars overhead were like a sprinkling of diamonds in a velvet black sky. It was quiet, and cool, and not an inkling that anything could wrong on a peaceful night such as this one.

When an insistent pounding began on the front door of the rooming house they’d chosen to stay at started to become louder and louder.

They had chosen to remain at the rooming house until they put together enough money to find a likely-looking piece of real estate that would serve as the new headquarters. 

The pounding continued without abatement for a good while. When Jamie could no longer believe that it was due the dull ache in his head from an over-indulgence of alcohol, he rolled over in bed, tapping Layla on one bared white shoulder. “Wake up, dear, something’s wrong.”

“Mm, just a few more hours, dear,” was Layla’s mumbled reply.

Normally he would have allowed her to sleep in, but this one of those occasions that once he got an idea in his head, especially one that was sending a message from his brain to his nerve endings, that something was wrong, and By God he should get up and do something about it; he was akin to a proverbial dog with a bone, and could not let it go.

“Get up” he tried more forcibly than before.

“I’m awake now,” she grumbled. “What is it?”

Suddenly, and even before it registered, he began coughing, an acrid-smelling haze of smoke suffused their tiny room, making breathing difficult and concentration even more so. The pounding that had awakened him grew louder the closer it came. 

Layla was also coughing by now, and wishing she was clad in a little more than her silk night gown tore a piece from the bed linens and then dipped it in the remainder of the water basin that had they had used to wash away dust and sweat of their recent travels, and wrapped the make-shift masks around their mouths.

"Come with us quietly and don’t give us any trouble, or it will go so much the worse for you,” threatened the cloaked and hooded leader of the intruders who had broken into the rooming house. 

They launched foul-smelling gas bombs, and had then quickly ordered his companions to bind and gag each of them.

Jamie was inclined to put up a struggle, even using his self-replicating abilities to give their captors something else to worry about, but seeing one of the hooded attackers holding a heavy and rather menacing-looking sledge hammer above Layla’s head, he thought better of the instinctive reaction.

It was not as if she couldn’t take care of herself, but he simply couldn’t risk it.

They were over-powered quickly and rapidly, although Jamie could tell that at least one or more were suffering from the after-effects of Theresa’s high-pitched sonic scream. He was certain, that the man’s head even underneath the thick shielding leather of cloth was held at an odd angle, and he appeared daze and a bit worse for wear.

In fact, if he looked closely enough, it appeared that there a trace of blood dripping out from underneath his hood

**  
Theresa, had a swelling purplish-blue colored bruise on the side of her head, and had been slung unconscious over the shoulder of one of the cloaked and hooded attackers. It appeared, from what Jamie could tell that they had also hit her in the mouth. 

It was not so much the suddenness of the attack or the fact that whoever was behind it knew exactly when, were and how they would be most likely to find each member of the team, and when they were most vulnerable, asleep; buy the fact, it had been all accomplished so quickly and suddenly. 

Why, now, why here. Surely, the long arm of His newly Majesty King James, could not possibly have extended this far, and if Theresa had been the first they attackers had gone after, surely here sonic scream would have alerted the others. So if it was not any of their known enemies, who else could have known who they were, much less where they could be find and how to subdue them with a minimal amount of fuss or damage?

In the back of his mind. Jamie thought, ‘If they had wanted to kill us, they would have done so already, so what’s their game? By all that is good and decent in this benighted world of ours, I want to know who and why! And I want to know now!’

They were not the only ones to have been attacked, for a rather burly-looking specimen carried a groggy and semi-conscious Lionel over one meaty shoulder. His brace of knives had been removed, but it hardly mattered at this point.

And yet another force-marched a dazed but defiant and unarmed Shatterstar and an extremely angry Julian Richter down the stairs to the ground floor. 

Another group of half a dozen cloaked and hooded men shoved and force-marched a disheveled and defiant Monet St. Croix out of her room and down the corridor, to the landing. 

Judging by the set of her shoulders and the expression on her face that had Monet had had her hands free; she would have gladly given all of her captors a drubbing that they would not soon have forgotten. 

As it were, in the course of her struggles, she did manage to break free long enough to rip the hempen cords of her restraints, panicking her captors into pulling out the side arms and let loose with a hail of lead bullets. 

Given the young woman’s unique and stalwart constitution they merely bounced off of her, and whatever drug that they had administered had at last worn off.

“Oh, you’re in for it now!” she crowed. “Monet!” Lionel yelled. “Forget them, get the rest of us free!”

The leader had at last realized what was going and began to snap out rapid-fire orders to his the men taking point-blank potshots at the young woman, who waded into them and began to forcibly fling them away from her bodily.

“Spoil my fun, Madrox, why don’t you?”

As they were dragged away, Monet was the only one who had the presence of mind to ask, in a hushed undertone, “Where’s Gideon?”

With his hands bound behind his back and his mouth gagged Jamie could only shrug helplessly, saying without the need for spoken words that he hadn’t the foggiest. He could only hope that whoever was behind the bizarre accusations and even more inexplicable attacks, had not gotten to Gideon Carosella as well.

***  
Jamie and Layla huddled together more for because it was something to solid to hold onto than for warmth, although it was considerably chilly in the bare stone cell. 

Layla felt wretched, both because with her unique perspective she had not ‘seen’ or anticipated this set of events branching off from their chosen path. While she well knew that while she had no power to force the various events to suit her own needs or those of the team, as she might wish to, it still rankled. 

She also felt extremely physically wretched, because whatever had been in that poison smoke that they’d been overtaken by back at the rooming house made her head throb, the inside of her mouth taste like she’d been chewing on nails rather than the bean, cabbage and sausage soup that had been last night’s dinner. She began to throw up.

Jamie held her as she went through the ordeal of vomiting the foul stuff out of her system and then waited patiently as he did the same. When it was over they felt much better for having done so, but the none-too clean floor of the cell had acquired a greenish-yellowish looking mixture of saliva and other substances.  
**  
In yet another cell, Shatterstar and Julian sat on the floor,

Julian felt a bit jealous of the mercenary, in that he either refused to show any signs of the after effects of the poison working its way out of his system, or he had not as badly affected as the rest of the team. 

He also had a dread of a delayed blow about to fall on their heads that had not so much been neglected as postponed. 

It did not help at all that, having gone over to the narrow window that was their cell’s only source of illumination; he caught a glimpse of a large wooden gallows block being built, which confirmed his earlier sense of impending danger.

He gripped the bars covering the window cell so tightly that his fingertips left impressions behind.

“Anything?” Shatterstar asked, calmly, and as perfectly naturally as if they were old acquaintances, who, who encountering one another on the street, or strolling by, paused to strike up a perfectly ordinary conversation. 

“Feeling better?” he added.

“Well enough,” Julian replied, then paused as he broke out into a coughing, which soon subsided.

“How can you not feel as wretched as I feel?” 

Shatterstar shrugged the movement supple and fluid as flowing water. “I cannot explain it very well, but it has to do with the nature of my, ah, physiology, I simply heal faster than any normal person,” replied the red head.

“Great, just great,” griped Julian, but there was hardly any heat in the effort. “Now what?”

“Neither these four stone walls, nor iron bars a cage,” murmured Shatterstar under his breath.

“In the short time we’ve known each other, I’ve experienced this unexplained connection to you, even though half the time I can’t express it very well or explain; “Julian sighed, “Please tell me that you’ve thought of an escape plan.”

“Yes, but I believe that the inability to tap into our abilities is not natural,” remarked Shatterstar quietly

“Madre de dios!” Julian exclaimed in mingled anger and frustration, 

“I believe that if you will join me at the window, I shall show you.”

Julian rolled off the narrow slat of worn metal-sprung cot that was the cell’s only bed and trotted over to the window where the taller man had pulled himself up by using his elbows as levers, and was staring at something outside of the prison. Frustrated that he couldn’t see, Julian cast about for something to stand on, finally wrenching the cot from the side of the wall and shoving it up against the wall with the window and standing up on it.

Shatterstar nodded and then pointed to a rotund, pale-faced, rather non-descript fellow dressed in a gray and white tunic, a black sash and a crushed felt hat that more than likely seen better days. This individual did not look at all dangerous, buy out of place. 

“I have been mediating on this and other matters, including as to why someone would go to all the trouble of capturing us, and how they were so easily able to overpower each of us.”

“And, what led you to the conclusion that this creep is some involved in all of this.

“Because, it’s like there’s a vacuum around him, a vacuum that simply sucks up our powers and nullifies them.”

Julian let out a whistle of shocked surprise mingled with anger, “If you’re right, it’s not only our necks that on the line here. We’ve got to get out of here and warn the others.”

Shatterstar let his grip on the bars go, and slipped down to the floor. “The sooner,” he stated firmly and confidently, “the better.

“Easier said than done, amigo,” muttered Julian, slumping back down on the sagging mattress of the bed he’d been standing on, and rubbing his cold fingers. It was cold in the cell, the crisp winter air just made it worse. “I don’t remember much about the last time I was in a situation like this, but I get the distinct feeling that they like to get things over with rather quickly around here.”

“What do you mean?” the other asked, still gazing out of the narrow slit window.”

“I mean, that as soon as dawn peeps in through that window, they’ll come for us and drag us all to the gallows. I for one would rather not be here when they do.”

“Which is why I believe that the power leech, near as I can tell has moved on, “ Shatterstar gave vent to a low, almost feral rumble deep in the back of his throat, and then offered Julian an equally feral but cheerful grin, showing all of his pearly white teeth. “Which means, I think we should break out.”

Julian shook his head, “Madre de Dios! You can’t be serious, but then again, I guess you are. It’s no more mad than some of the stuff we’ve done, so why the hell not?”

He got up off of the cot and stood up, taking deep breaths in order to steady his nerves and focus his abilities. He had just gotten his head around to a mentally good place, when the other man put a restraining hand on his shoulder. “I appreciate the effort, but I believe I a more subtle approach is called for her.

“You do subtle?” Julian exclaimed in mingled shock and with more than sarcasm, most of which was lost on his cell-mate.

“Yes,” Shatterstar replied softly, “When the need arises.”

Julian shook his head and then added: “Not that I’m complaining, but didn’t our captors confiscate your swords?”

“They did, but they were sloppy and uncoordinated and not worthy of being called warriors,”

“Yeah, I know, but what are you going to do with that poniard?” asked Julian, his curiously piqued.

“Watch and learn,” Shatterstar replied, nonchantaly, keeping one hand on Julian’s shoulder, the other holding the dagger between his middle and index fingers, and began to hum a low pulsating throb of sound, that was not quite a tone, and not quite that similar to the thrumming humming and buzzing to be found in a bee hive. 

The sound continued unabated for a long time that Julian was content to wait it out, when the humming actually became too loud to stand, and he used his free hands to cover his ears, just to block it out.

Suddenly, as quick as a sucker punch to the gut, the sound stopped. The walls, windows, and door exploded outward, the force of which sent them both flying backwards to the center of the cell.

Julian sat up and held his head in his hands for long moments, getting his breath back. Finally, shaking his head in amazement, “Wow. That was a hell of a thing.”

Shatterstar nodded, “Yes, but it does take a great deal out of me, and I cannot do it again, for a while.”

“Good enough for me. Now, unless they’ve already figured out what we have, we need to the others out before anyone’s the wiser,” Julian declared as he got up and went over to lend a hand to the mercenary.

Not that he exactly needed it, but in the course of their brief acquaintance and during the sea voyage, that magnetic connection that he had sense when they had first met had only grown stronger. He still had difficulty explaining what exactly what it was that drew him, but much like iron to a lodestone, it drew him nonetheless, and in his own, bizarre yet undeniable way, he believed that Shatterstar felt it as well.  
**

And another cell Theresa and Monet had been shoved unceremoniously by their captors, Theresa was still unconscious and Monet herself did not feel as well as she usually did. She had not agreed with Jamie’s orders to stand down, but had seen the wisdom behind it. 

Escalating further conflict with their abductors would only endanger the rest of the team.

In the meantime, the anger seethed in her, and she very much wanted to hit something, When the other woman at last began to stir, and mutter half-formed words that Monet could barely understand. Her anger subsided at  
last.

***  
Lionel’s cell company was noisome drunks and debtors who could not afford to pay off their obligations. All in all, it was a lousy night.

He sank down on the only available floor space and drawing his long legs up and in close to his body, trying to occupy himself in drawing in and out long deep breaths, focusing his mind on this singular task, in a series of patterns, timing each to the rhythm of his own heartbeat; and for a while it did the trick. 

He felt the last of the poison leave his system, and when it last it did, rather rapidly considering his unique physiology; Lionel began to think about a means of escape.

**  
The sun had just risen above the tree-line but a small ground had gathered in the village square, along with the magistrate and other officials that typically oversaw a hanging.  
Jamie and Layla stood tied together on the wooden platform directly underneath the shadow of the gibbet. He cursed and kicked as much as he could with his hands bound and his mouth gagged. 

For her part, Layla bumped him with her booted foot, either as a sign that she was there and understood his anger, or maybe it was a warning to calm down. 

Often, with her, it was difficult to tell even at the best of times; and under the circumstances, this did not fall into that category at all. He was still turning events over and over in his own mind, trying to find an explination as to why they had known so much about each of them. Most especially how they had so quickly managed to incapacitate their unique individual witch breed powers. 

It was vexing, and irritating, and it preyed on his mind, until it just gave him a headache.

Below them, Monet and Theresa were similarly bound and held under guard by the menacing yet clearly apprehensive handful of guards in their dark clothing, with their hoods down, despite the early autumn chill. 

The sun had just risen, yet much of its light and warmth was hidden behind a bank of low-flying clouds.  
Jamie could not helping noticing that the guard whose nose that Monet had broken, it hadn’t set right, and it gave him the appearance of a injured owl, on his jowly face. He eyed Monet warily, as if he was not entirely certain that it was safe to be around her, even as a captive scheduled to be executed by hanging.

Nothing draws a crowd like a hanging, even in a fledgling English colony town like this, Roanoke it held true to that axiom. Most of the town’s population had gathered in the central square, men, women and children, jostling and elbowing for favorable position. 

Those who had not managed to gain such in the front row, settled for ones farther back, and some, had simply decided to watch from the upper floor windows of the houses lining three out of four corners of the square.

The gallows was a large wooden platform that stood about twice the height of a tall man, and three times that across. The crowd seemed to sway like the tides of the ocean when the chief executioner, a burly, heavy-set, dark-bearded fellow who were a black hood over his head and bore a heavy wickedly sharp axe over one shoulder mounted up to the four steps to the top of the platform.

***  
Enter Garrett Hodge as the chief Magistrate and presider over the ceremonies, such as they were.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here to stand in both witness and judgment of a grave stain upon this brand new colony of ours. It is the province of both my office to uphold law and order, to do my duty in such matters as these,” Hodge began in ringing, stentorian, tenor tones, his blonde hair whipped by a stiff fall morning breeze. His tall spare, and angular hat, seeming as tall, and slender as the Chief Magistrate himself, about to take off and blow away in the wind at the slightest inclination.

“That which is unclean, must be made cleansed, and you shall all stand in witness.” He concluded in ringing tones. “Those who stand before you, are newcomers to our land, as are many of you, and we all came here from our native land for one reason or another, looking to make a brand new start, and that is a laudable venture.”

He paused and took a deep breath, before adding:

“They must atone for their crimes, and you may as well ask what those crimes are? They stand accused of being among those known in England as the Witch Breed! They may look like us, but I tell you today, that they are Not!”

Another, older man, stepped up to the platform top, he wore a black suit with the white collar of the parish priest, and then withdrew a copy of the King James Bible from the satchel that hung from his left shoulder. “Duos Wilstei!” He cried, “God Willing, Lord Forgive us, if our judgment is faulty.”  
**  
Gideon took a deep breath and stole a glance down into the town square, feeling as if he were about to crash down on top of everyone cared gathered there like a heavy anvil. Barring a better plan, it might just provide enough of a distraction to give Lila a chance to slip in, cut down, Layla and Jamie, and get the others free, without being detected. 

He was still more than a little uncertain how she had managed to transport both of them from her patron’s manor to the town square; in the blink of an eye, but he was in no mood or position to question her on it. 

And it had certainly come in handy, because they had arrived in time to prevent any of his friends from being strung up like a joint of beef in a butcher job. He spit out a gobbet of saliva and shook his head to shake the taste of bile in his mouth and his own mental image. He had seen men hang before, it was not a pretty sight, and he could never quite figure out why such unpleasant events drew the kinds of crowds that it did.

While, he musing and considering what he should do next, his glance happened to touch that of Monet, and something undefined passed between them, but he was too busy to attempt to figure out what that something might be.

At that moment, a strong hand grabbed him from behind and yanked him down and away from the edge of the roof. He swore and reflexively yanked himself away from the grip, swinging out wildly and smiled grimly when his fist connected with the breastbone of whoever had grabbed him from behind, and turned around to see the flushed red-haired mercenary Shatterstar, crouching on the rooftop a foot away from where he stood, and the former blacksmith, Julian Richter.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question,” replied Julian wryly. “But, we’re rapidly running out of time, so if you have some brilliant suggestions now would be good.”

“I don’t know, but I was trying to come up with a rescue plan.

“Good, then we’re on the same corner.”

“Same page, it’s same page, Star’.” Julian griped.

“Yes, what he said,” stated Shatterstar.

“Okay, I don’t know how you got out of your cell, but that doesn’t matter right now, I have an ally that is even now blending in with the crowd, getting as close as she can to gallows and will try to cut their bonds without alerting the guards.“Good, what else?” Shatterstar asked confidently, and with a supple shrug of his shoulder muscles, he let the hidden double-bladed swords slip out of the sheaths in his sleeves.

“How did he get those back?” Gideon asked.

“They don’t keep a very good watch on the keys to the warden’s room,” Julian replied, “And by the way, we think we figured out why, when they came for us that they were able to overcome us so easily.”

“Oh, well, then, how’s that?” 

“Poison smoke and I think they’ve got someone with them with witch breed abilities or at least the power to cancel them out,” Shatterstar explained. “If we take him out first, then the others will be free to use their abilities to escape.”

Gideon moved to the roof’s edge again and looked down, “Come here, can you point him out for me?”

Julian and Shatterstar moved to the edge as well and looked down.

Half-hidden in the shadows cast by the gallows and heavily cloaked, the short, shy man that Shatterstar had marked earlier from the window of the cell he shared with Julian. He looked as if here were trying to hide within the folds of his own too-large cloak, as if he sought to make himself smaller than ever, as if he could disappear.

“There he is, standing beside the priest,” Julian whispered.

“This ally of yours, did she give you a prearranged signal to let you when you should move in?” Shatterstar asked.

“I, uh, yeah, I just hope she’s all right,” Gideon stammered and shook his head, folding his arms over his chest.  
**

Lila kept one eye on the guards and one eye open that her disguise or purpose would be unmasked, all the while moving surreptitiously through the crowd, the knife tucked into the folds of her skirts grasped tightly in one hand. She had used her newly manifested witch breed ability to instantly transport from one location to another to get them to town square, but the effort had tasked her more than she had expected it to. And she did not want to risk doing so again, too soon.

Meanwhile, the guards had wrestled Jamie and Layla up to the top of the platform and had been forced to stand atop wooden barrels so that the nooses could be wrapped around their throats. Jamie felt like a stubborn unfed mule, full of mute obstinate fury and with the overwhelming urge to lash out and kick anyone and anything in the immediate vicinity. For her part, Layla had her eyes closed and was humming under her breath, without being able to explain or understand exactly why, but she felt as if this was not the end for either of them, that at the eleventh hour they would be given a reprieve.

She stole a glance at her husband, a difficult thing to do, given that they tug of the ropes around their necks forced them to swing away from each other, and said, “There’s always hope, so don’t give up, we just might get out of this one yet.”

“What do you mean?” he gasped.

“I don’t know, but I just got this feeling,”

“Shut up!” ordered Garrett Hodge,” and then turned to face the crowd once more. “Let this be a lesson to all of the Witchbreed! A lesson and a reminder of the fate of all your kind!”

Just then Lila managed to reach the scaffold, was sawing away at the bonds of Theresa Cassidy and Longshot, as quickly and quietly as she could. The attention of their wardens lax and fixed on the scene playing out before them. Theresa glanced down at the young woman, and was about to say something, when the other woman placed a slender finger to her mouth, “Hush, don’t say anything, but I come as a friend. But we must hurry.”

“Very well, for now,” Theresa whispered in return.

Longshot nodded. “I don’t know, but I have a feeling that we can trust her.”

“What is going on here,” the priest asked, noticing, at last, the movements at the foot of the scaffold.

One of the guards looked inquiringly at the member of clergy and doffed his head, making a clumsy little bow as he did so, “It’s nothing yer, Father, just the prisoners becoming a bit frisky like, pay it no mind. I take no responsibility….”

“We all take responsibility in this life, son,” the priest replied, with a tight little smile, “but Our Savior understands about difficult burdens.”

Stirring restlessly beside Theresa and Longshot, Monet, feeling much more herself than she had at any moment since their capture and incarceration, swung out a fist and felled her nearest warden. She knocked him instantly to the ground in a boneless heap. She followed that up, felling several half dozen guards to the ground before they quite realized what was happening. 

“Monet! Theresa gasped breathlessly! “Wait!”

But no sooner were the words out of her mouth, Monet was running up onto the platform, crashing heedlessly through the guards, ignoring the spray of lead-bullets that flew all around her.

Heaving a sigh and uttering a muttered prayer to God and all his saints, Theresa Cassidy, figured that it was time to start fighting back. She nodded to Lionel; who grinned back at her. “Let us do this!” he said.

Theresa, waded through the heap of unconscious guards, leaping up to gain some maneuverability and let loose with a high-pitched screaming; scattering wardens and principals like a child’s jack draws.

Lila, slowly recovering from having been knocked down along with the wardens in Monet’s charge, scrambled to her feet, scanning the ground for the knife that had she had lost in the melee. “Where is it? And what have I got myself into?” she whispered.

It took her several moments to locate the knife, and get her bearings once more, when she looked at the roof of the house across the way where she had left Gideon, she realized with a start that he wasn’t there. 

After a moment’s panicky reaction that either something must have happened to him, or that he had failed to show; she realized that he and two other men that she did not know, were just now charging into the square. More than likely having they had been attracted by the ruckus of the ensuing melee.

She heaved a sigh of relief, and wondered if there were anything else she could do to help, realizing after a moment, that she with her little knife would only get in the way, so she decided to remain where she was for the nonce.

Monet grasped the poles the nooses on which Jamie and Layla hung, “This is getting old,” she remarked.

“Ugh, uh..”was the best that James Madrox could manage at the moment. “But, I’ve become accustomed to having the two of you around, you more than Layla, but let’s get you down from there.”

Monet gave it mighty tug; again then again, and the whole scaffold and everything it stood on, and it soon began to tremble, finally coming loose from the whole with a distinct popping and grinding sound. Jamie and Layla slumped to the wooden floor, choking and gasping for breath like a landed fish.

When they could breathe again, Jamie reached down and helped Layla to stand, their skin around their face and necks blue-tinged. “It’s not over yet. I want the head of that rotten-to-the core Hodge on a platter.”

 

“Revenge is all well and good, dear, but we simply can’t afford to take the time,” replied Layla.

“Madrox!” Theresa called out, hovering above the heads of the crowd and the startled wardens, who ‘s numbers had just been increased with the arrival of reinforcements from the town jail.

“Glad I am to see you both among the living, but we need to get out of here as soon as possible!”

Longshot, meanwhile, was keeping the guards at bay with a deluge of throwing knifes, dodging their return fire as if he were as slippery as a proverbial eel. 

“We need a distraction!”

“Did someone call for a distraction?” someone yelled. 

At that moment Shatterstar arrived with Julian in tow, and waved his swords in the air, knocking the phalanx of guards unconscious with repeated blows to their heads.

Julian, cupped his hands together and released his green-tinged energy into the ground, knocking the crowd to the ground, and causing the already considerably damaged gallows to fall apart. “One distraction, as ordered. Now, Madre de Dios! Can we get out of here?”

“Go! Go! Go!” Madrox ordered.

**  
Conclusion

“I have decided to take Lila Cheney up on her job offer to act her body guard and jack of all trades,” Gideon blurted out, sitting in the over-stuffed arm chair in the sitting room of the rooming house, for this one night empty of its usual noisy crowd of locals.

“You’re leaving the team?” Monet asked, and the way in which she put it made it sound more like a statement than a question.

“Look, it wouldn’t, oh the hell with it, it just seems like a good time for me to move on with my life, see what else is out there, you know?” Gideon said, a bit anxiously.

“You have to do whatever you feel is right,” Madrox sighed, rubbing the bruised flesh of his neck.

“As do all of us, eventually, the thing of it us, speaking of moving on, I think it’s time we all sat down and uh, assessed what we should do now.”

“It’s become painfully obvious, that someone betrayed us to Hodge and his cronies,” Theresa muttered angrily. And I think I know who.”

“Abernathy,’ Gideon answered quietly.

“You believe so,” Theresa asked.

“Yeah, and I don’t think we would have ever found out if it hadn’t been for my friend Lila Cheney, she’s his ward and protégé. It turns out he only did it to protect her and his own reputation in the community, but I still think it was a damn lousy thing to do.”

“All the same, what are we going to do now?” Julian asked. 

“We could write to my father, ask him for any other contacts in the new World, go somewhere else,’ Theresa mused. “I mean there must be alternatives to Roanoke Colony.”

“Agreed, but where?” Shatterstar added. 

“I don’t know for the moment, but wherever we do decide to go, we do it together; agreed?”

“What about Gideon?”

“Yeah, what about me?”

“It’s your decision, you are, of course, welcome to stay with the team, but if you wants to go and make a brand new start with Miss Cheney, we won’t stand in your way,” Madrox replied.

“Fair enough,” Gideon replied, “But if I do leave, and I’m not saying that I will, just want to let you all know that it’s been an honor and a privilege working with you.”

“Don’t get all mushy on me, Carosella,” Monet replied. “It doesn’t wash.”

“Don’t let her fool you, she just wants to act all tough,” Layla remarked, with a wink.

“Shut up, Layla,” Monet griped. 

“It’s late, let’s get a good night’s sleep, and start fresh in the morning,” Madrox said.


End file.
